The Devil in the Details
by Hallucifer
Summary: [Season 11 rewrite] After the Darkness is freed, Sam seeks Lucifer's help. With his own motivations to prove himself to those who abandoned him, Lucifer agrees- on certain conditions. In the devil's company, Sam learns uncomfortable truths, about both himself and Lucifer, and the details that have made the devil who he is.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the cage.

The cage was hard to explain. It was a physical space, yet it wasn't. It had walls, it was just hard to keep track of them sometimes. He lost Michael in it often, Adam too. But Lucifer he could always feel, even if he couldn't see him. He presumed it was the whole having shared a body thing. He didn't know. Once he was out of the cage, it stopped, and he tried not to think about it. He generally tried not to think about Lucifer, and he didn't like to think on the reasons why he avoided the subject so much, even more so. But now, he could feel Lucifer again.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sam turned around.

Lucifer was stood in the corner.

Sam had never known whether Lucifer made himself look like his old vessel, or whether it was his human mind's way of making this incomprehensible, multidimensional being into something he could visually understand. Nick suited him, Sam felt. As natural as Lucifer slid under his skin, the blond hair, blue eyes combination was what Sam somehow imagined Lucifer to look like, though he knew it was nothing of the sort. The look was a combination of ironies, with the rumpled clothes on a figure that moved with such grace. The intimidating height, almost as tall as Sam himself, but the less-defined, softer figure and older body, if it wasn't for the eerie, underlying sense of power that always hovered around Lucifer, it could never be believed he was an immortal being. Sam sometimes wondered why Lucifer had chosen that vessel. Sam had never met Nick, but from appearance, he imagined him to be nothing more than your average suburban dad, probably a desk worker, or handyman. Either way, so much your typical _human._ Sam wondered if Lucifer got the irony.

Probably not.

It didn't matter. He was dwelling on these old details to avoid thinking about the present situation. That Lucifer was _here_ , with him. Looking at him.

Sam had forgotten how to breathe. Maybe he didn't need to breathe in a vision… or whatever this was. Maybe he should have been worried about becoming so detached from reality. Maybe he should have cared more about that, rather than that it just didn't seem to matter, because he was here, again, with him…

He could remember the last time he saw Lucifer. Well, perhaps, not _saw_ him. He saw him a lot for a while. A walking, talking, animated figure that hovered around him night and day and said a lot of things that made him uncomfortable. That was when Sam had gone crazy. It sounded silly to say it like that, but that was what it had been; a break from reality. People broke in different ways. Some lost their ability to speak and act logically, others became paranoid and delusional, some lost themselves in their own mind and thoughts. Sam supposed he was closest to the latter category. His mind turned on him, presenting him with every uncomfortable thought he'd ever had, and what better figure than Lucifer? Really, Sam had understood his insanity. Lucifer had always represented uncomfortable truths to him, so he wasn't surprised that the broken mess of his brain had selected that familiar figure to torture itself with. Ironically, it made it so much easier to explain. That he was seeing the devil, that was simple enough. _Why_ he was seeing him, why Lucifer made him so uncomfortable, those were details Sam kept to himself. Nothing was ever as it was supposed to be with Lucifer. It was never about hating him, it was about wanting to hate him. Hating that he didn't hate him. Hating that he didn't want to say no. Hating that even that hallucinatory figure, he hadn't wanted it to go.

But none of that had been real. And it was gone now. That Lucifer was not real. The last time he'd seen the real Lucifer, they'd made eye contact just as Death grasped him and pulled him up and out toward the first light Sam had seen in eons. In his last moments in the darkness of the cage, he'd watched Lucifer's face fall into a look that Sam had been trying to tell himself since was not of abandonment.

And now Sam was looking at him again. In this present moment he'd been avoiding, Lucifer was in front of him. And now he moved closer, and as always Sam didn't know what to do. A part of his mind wanted to back away- no, not wanted to. Wanted to want to. He was thinking he should, telling himself that was the thing to do. But another part of him, the same part that craved food, oxygen, warmth, and other instinctive needs wanted to move closer. It was that part that didn't move when Lucifer reached out and touched him.

Five years ago, for the first time in his life, Sam had realised what he had been missing. It wasn't like a hole inside of him, but rather the feeling after taking off a piece of clothing or equipment, like glasses, or a hardhat, which you'd been wearing for a long time, like something was meant to be there but no longer was. Except until five years ago, Sam was sure it never had been there, but it was like something in him was waiting, anticipating it. It was like a space made to fit the second piece of the puzzle. A rip in his soul, with which the seams of Lucifer's grace lined up perfectly.

Sam didn't know how this was possible. He didn't know what these visions were, or what they were really trying to tell him. He didn't know- though he clung to a faith that had not lived up to much so far in his life- who was sending him these images. But the only thing God had ever sent him before was Lucifer, and as the most divine feeling of calm seemed to settled in his very being, Sam stared back into the devil's eyes and smiled.

When Sam had left the cage, Lucifer had been angry.

The same as many things in his long lifetime, Lucifer had felt it wasn't fair. For so long, he'd tried to understand his father's will, but each turn of events seemed to make less and less sense. What did God want of him? Was there truly not other way to please his father other than to become one of the mindless, drone-like, yes-men fellow angels of the heavenly ranks which were all considered worthy to continue their celestial purpose above him?

Lucifer didn't like to admit he didn't understand. The mere thought made him deeply uncomfortable. To him, understanding was logic, was reason and intelligence. With everything there had to be a path of facts and common sense which showed what was right. Everything could be thought through, and doing so was how the best conclusions could be drawn on a situation. When you analyzed any given scenario properly, logically, the presented answer was indisputable.

To Lucifer, it was all so clear.

So why could no one else see it?

There were two possible explanations to that: the first was that he, for some reason of his father's twisted thinking, was truly the only angel with a functioning sense of logic. Lucifer could accept being different, if that difference made him superior. He was smarter, surely, that he could see these things. He _understood_ in a way the other angels didn't. His mind just worked differently, and the other poor angels with their inability to _think_ , inability to follow reason, were just naive, just brainwashed into only seeing the limited range of options that they had always known. Angels spent their lives waiting on orders, and Lucifer supposed- logically- when that was all you'd ever known, thinking for yourself was a intimidating, or perhaps even impossible, concept. And _that_ was why none of them agreed with him. That was why they all thought he was wrong, because they simply couldn't see their own failings. That was the reasoning Lucifer clung to. Because the other possible explanation was far more disconcerting.

It could not be possible, he assured himself, that he was the naive one. Lucifer _acknowledged_ that there were other options, they just- logically- were not the right options. He hadn't purposefully chosen this path, he _hadn't_ , it just made sense. It was the only option. Reasonably, logically, the whole situation was so wrong, so the only smart thing to do was to try to fix it. That was what he was doing, what he'd always been doing: trying to fix things.

Lucifer didn't understand what his father wanted of him, but his father had given him this ability, this vision to see things others didn't. It must have been for some reason, there must have been some _logic_ behind God's decision to make him different. The way he thought differently, the ability he had to see more, it must have been something _others_ were lacking. Because Lucifer couldn't stand to comprehend the idea that _he_ was the one who was wrong.

Superior, not broken- he'd clung to that philosophy for a very long time now.

Once, when he had been very young, almost within mortal years, Father had spoken to himself and Michael and told them that one day they would both receive something. To Michael, he had said that he would receive purpose. He gave them no further explanation, but later Michael bragged that he was promised for greatness, that he would one day have a purpose of glory. He was Father's head soldier, after all, a warrior. Michael looked forward to this great victory. But to Lucifer, their father promised understanding.

"Understanding what, Father?" Lucifer had asked.

God had not elaborated.

Angels had many eyes that saw far beyond what was physically in front of them. They could see in many directions, through many dimensions, though like mortal eyes, their vision could only stretch so far. But when the angels had begun to see the tale of the two vessels unfold, and as the conflict began, and Lucifer's differences became apparent, he began to make sense of it. Sam Winchester was his understanding. Sam, his promised vessel, would understand him.

It had been true- to an extent. Lucifer wondered sometimes, in his darkest moments, whether his father really was just playing some cruel joke on him. Yes, Sam got it- the feeling of being different, the experience of the anxiety and upset that came with disobeying one's own father, the sometimes overwhelming frustration of being able to see something so obvious that everyone else was blind, too. All that, Sam understood.

But Sam also had Dean.

That hadn't been part of the plan. Or at least, the plan as Lucifer had understood it. He and Michael had learnt more about their vessels as the years passed, anticipating their arrival, at first with curiosity, and then with anxiety as it became clearer what the purpose of all this was.

Michael saw Dean like a finely crafted weapon, the perfect sword that he would one day wield to prove himself as the great warrior Michael knew Father wanted him to be. Lucifer, however, saw Sam as something else. A friend? Not really. Angels- even Lucifer- were not too familiar with that idea. To him, Sam was a companion, however, someone with which he could, and he thought should, spent eternity. Sam was a part of his future, almost like an arranged marriage.

He wouldn't deny that he had looked forward to meeting Sam with anticipation. His vessel had been everything he'd hoped for: strong, logical, intelligent, independent…. to an extent.

Every foreseeable situation he'd imagined, he had worked with the presumption that Sam would be alone. The things he had to say to Sam were not for anyone else to hear. The whole basis of their understanding worked on the concept that Sam would also be… lonely- no, _alone_. Lucifer was not…

Anyway. Dean Winchester's _constant, insistent, unwavering_ presence had not been anticipated. It wasn't that he wanted Sam to suffer, it was that he had been promised understanding. And how could Sam understand, properly, fully, the feeling of being abandoned when he _hadn't been?_

Winchesters. Stupid, damn Winchesters. They were selfish. There were bigger things than being brothers. There were bigger things than family. There had to be or Lucifer truly had lost what was most valuable. It was incredulous. The world, fate, the damn apocalypse seemed to bend to the unexplainably powerful influence of Sam and Dean Winchesters' 'brotherly bond'. Just play their roles, that was all they had had to do. Just be like him and Michael, just let fate run its course, just have one brother kill the other. Just stop valuing each other first over everything else. It was selfish. It wasn't fair. No one had ever put Lucifer first. It was a cheat, a cop out, that his vessel had this privilege. Sam was him. Michael was Dean. Two sets of brothers, the same story. It had all been set up for perfectly…

But Dean wasn't Michael, was he? Lucifer still remembered the moment when his brother's eyes darkened, the moment when he knew- truly, with the most crushing weight he'd ever felt- that Michael would turn on him. It was the same as on the battlefield, that cemetery, when he'd asked (pleaded) with Michael to just stop, and Michael had said no. And yet… and yet….

Lucifer still remembered it: "It's okay, Sammy. I'm here. I'm not going to leave you".

 _I'm not going to leave you._

His Father had promised him understanding, but after the whole experience of the apocalypse during which Lucifer thought he would finally achieve this, he had been left more confused than ever. The Winchesters had acted all wrong. It didn't make sense. Michael had abandoned him because he was naive, another blind angel unable to see the things Lucifer saw. Dean Winchester was hardly a specimen of intelligence, ignorant and as blind to reason as the rest of them. It only made sense for him to turn against Sam and his logical, independent way of thinking. Dean disagreed with Sam on many things, both then and now, because Dean didn't share the understanding and enlightenment that Lucifer and Sam did. Dean was a stubborn creature, adamant in his views and fixed in his ways, a clash with Sam. The stage was set for another brotherly relationship to fall apart due to a betrayal in beliefs.

Only it didn't.

Because Dean didn't _care_.

They disagreed, they fought, they argued, but still Dean remained. Still Dean valued Sam over every difference of opinion, over every conflict. It made Lucifer incredulous, and angry. And jealous.

Why had he never been worthy to be put first? Why hadn't Michael valued him above everything else? Why was it no one ever chose him over everything? Was he really that unworthy? Unworthy to remain in Heaven? Unworthy to be a son, a brother?

They were wrong. They were all wrong. And Lucifer would prove it.

When the Darkness had been freed, both Heaven and Hell had shaken with terror. Even Michael had broken his solemn recluse to join him at one of the towering walls of the cage where they both had watched the cracks form, through which- for the first time in so many years- they had been able to see something other than the inside of their prison. Through this wondrous new window to the rest of creation, Lucifer had sought out Sam Winchester.

And Lucifer found that the Darkness had claimed him. Lucifer cried out, furious, defensive as the Darkness' poisonous infection crept through his vessel's veins. Hell shook with his anger, the demons fled, crawling away, the chains that held their prison shaking.

She would not have him. Lucifer would not let her poison his vessel as she had once poisoned him….

A very, very long time ago, the Darkness had turned to look at them, to observe these new creatures her brother had created, his children. Lucifer had always remembered the Darkness having been there from the first moment. Basking in his father's light, she was a mere shadow on the side. Every time Lucifer tried to peer over at her, his father would turn him away, telling him not to "worry about her". Father never acknowledged her other than that, never addressed her, so Lucifer did the same. Until one day she took the initiative and turned her attention to them instead.

His siblings had been gathered around their father. Stood on the edge, Lucifer had been the only one who had noticed as through the fog, she had appeared before him. She stopped right in front of him, barely a foot away so he could see right into her eyes. They were so empty, so unlike the warm, blessed gaze of his father.

"What are you?" She had asked him, her head tilting curiously. "Why does he spend all his time with you when he shuns me?"

"I'm his son," Lucifer had told her.

"His son?"

"Yes. We're all his children."

Her face had creased then, her expression bitter. She had apparently not liked what she had heard. Her hand reached out and coiled around the side of his face. The touch seized him, made him freeze up, but he saw the black, the dark creeping over him, down his limbs, through his very being.

Then Father's hand had grasped him from behind and pulled him back.

The memory of an angel was infinite, but the following moments were a blur. He heard his father speaking, for the first ever time with wrath in his voice. He could feel his brothers holding him, Michael keeping him from falling while Raphael hurried to gather the supplies their father instructed him to get. Gabriel's face passed his vision briefly, scared, worried. Then he saw fire. Holy fire. It scorched as it passed over his body and Lucifer had screamed and screamed. He struggled to get away but Michael held him tight until it was over, and the black had all gone.

In all honesty, he had originally reached out to Sam for no other purpose than to tell him how to cure himself. He could spare his vessel this, and Sam was strong enough to bare the painful remedy as he had borne all the cage had to offer.

It was only after, as he dwelled on the reestablished contact after so long apart, that Lucifer contemplated what else he could make of this situation.

Michael very rarely spoke to him, or at all, since their imprisonment, but even he could put aside such pettiness in this situation. "We cannot allow this. Father said it was the most important thing we'd ever done when we sealed her up. How the heck could those idiot hairless apes have allowed this to happen?"

The most important thing. Lucifer remember how Father had praised them once they'd locked away the Darkness. How he had been pleased. How Father looked at them, at him with love, with value. "I'm trusting you with something very important," Father had said to him. "You have to look after it, okay? This will keep her locked away, and we have to keep her locked away, okay, Lucifer?"

"Yes, Father." He'd watched, curiously, as Father traced a hand over his arm, and there swelled into existence an angry red mark, two perpendicular red streaks with two smaller blotches alongside. It later gained the name of the Mark of Cain, but it had been Lucifer's mark first, though that idea made him uncomfortable. It was the Darkness' mark. Lucifer did not like having her on his skin.

But it was important. Father had give him this important task, to bear this mark, to keep the Darkness sealed away. When he had given the mark away, Father had been furious. There were other reasons Father had been furious with him, too, but those weren't important right now.

Sealing the Darkness back up was the most important. And if Lucifer could achieve that most important task, than maybe he could finally be most important _to_ somebody.

Lucifer would prove himself. He would show them all he was worthy, that they were wrong to lock him away, to disvalue him so much. Maybe then, they would finally take him seriously, they would finally listen to what he had to say, to his reason, to his logic. Justice, at long last.

After weeks of reaching out, or guidance, of reforming their bond, Sam was finally coming to see him.


End file.
